May 21, 2014 Wednesday

Santa Cruz	The Hook - 41st Street
11:30 am to 12:40 am	4' to 5', sets overhead
Low upcoming tide	Slight cross breeze
Bright sun with high fluffy clouds	Fun session

Day 1 of the Fay Moore Memorial Trip South

Today was the start of my five-day adventure/surf safari to my mother's memorial service – two days down to Los Angeles, one day for the service and two days back. The memorial would be Friday May 23rd at the Neighborhood Church in Palos Verdes, which is the old Haggerty's Estate, situated on the cliff above the famous Haggerty's surf break, a clean left point break during big north swells. My itinerary was: Day 1 Mill Valley to Ventura to spend the night with Kate's sister Joan and her husband Larry; Day 2 Ventura to Redondo Beach to spend two nights at the Portofino Inn; Day 3 memorial service at the Neighborhood Church and a family dinner at the Cheesecake Factory at King Harbor in Redondo Beach (a favorite spot of my mother's); Day 4 Redondo Beach to Montecito in Santa Barbara to visit my life long friend Greg; and Day 5 Santa Barbara to Mill Valley.

Getting the family together was complicated. Kate and my daughter Allison would fly down the morning of the service, spend the night at the Portofino Inn and fly back the next day. My role was to meet them at the airport, get them to the church and take them to the airport Saturday morning. Son Kevin, who was on a consulting assignment in Stockholm, Sweden, planned to fly into LAX Friday afternoon and take a cab to the church. He would ride back to the Bay Area with me. We hoped to catch some waves Saturday and Sunday.

I took off this morning at 8 am with a fully loaded car – two surfboards (which fit inside the car), two wetsuits and related surf gear, one laptop computer that contained 129 photo slide show of my mother, one iPod with 4000 of my favorite tunes, one iPad, one iPhone, clothes for five days, and a garment bag with one old suit that I had not worn in six years, a dress shirt and one tie.

The surf coming down the coast didn't look good. Ocean Beach was wind blown and junky, so was Linda Mar, Montara was big and ill formed and Kelly Ave in Half Moon Bay was huge, rough and scary with no one out. But Santa Cruz was perfect. The Santa Cruz Mountains cast a huge wind shadow over the water and the kelp beds hold the chop down. At the Hook (the end of 41st Street) the waves were beautiful. Far at sea you could see white caps, but close to shore it was glassy smooth.

When coming into Santa Cruz I did what I always wanted to do but couldn't with the family in the car. I headed down Swift Ave (2nd light on the north side of town) to Doug Haut's surf shop. The place hasn't changed in twenty years. I gawked at the beautiful new boards (I'm currently on my third Haut board) and ended up purchasing a new T-shirt, which I immediately put on.

One look at the Hook and I suited up. Twenty surfers were at the main peak. On the west side of the peak (the beach faces due south) one could go left as well as right. I decided to head out there. The crowd was mellow. Santa Cruz has that reputation of mean localism, but the guys in the water helped me out. The waves were intimidating – especially after several months of tame Bolinas waves. Wave selection was tough given the size of the waves and the number of bodies in the water. I paddled for several of them, missed them all and then scratched over several big set waves.

One of the better surfers noticed that I was having troubles catching the waves. He was next to me when a sizeable swell peaked in front of us. "It's yours, paddle hard!" We both started stroking for it. The wave picked me up and I pushed over the edge, jumped to my knees and flew through the first section. The lip was right over my head; I hung high in the curl and "smoosh" trimmed across a fast and smooth face. I stood up, stalled for an instant to drop into the next section, shot down another steep curl and straightened out as the wave closed out near shore. I looked back to see my companion; he was thirty yards behind me with his fist raised, as if to say, "nice ride."

From there I paddled out to the next peak down the beach where the waves were smaller and less people in the water. Again another guy encouraged me into a wave. We both turned to go for a set wave. "Go, go, go!" he said. Digging hard I was into it, jumped up, climbed high in the curl through the first section, worked it into the inside and hummed along a second fast and steep section. I caught a few more, but those two waves made my day. I was jacked up and pumped with that surfer's glow that lasted all the way to Ventura.

"Don't you guys get spoiled riding these perfect waves?" I said to an older surfer in a 1950 Chevy panel truck parked next to me.

"Yes we do," was his response.

As I pulling away, "any good burrito places nearby?"

"Yes, just down 41st. I forgot the name. It's on the left across from the bike place."

I found it – Vallarta's and he was right. I bought a delicious chorizo breakfast burrito with beans and rice and horchata for the road. I took off wearing my new T-shirt with a towel in my lap to protect against spills and nibbled on my burrito all the way to Salinas. I had a great time in Santa Cruz, but it was 2 pm when I left and I was facing a four to five hour drive to Ventura. At 6:30 pm I made a pit stop at El Refugio State Beach north of Santa Barbara and called my sister-in-law Joan. "You'll be here at 7:30," and she was right. It was a long day, but a good one that ended with lots of family talk with Joan and brother-in-law Larry.